Losing my Religion
by Konniemay
Summary: At a ripe age, a quiet man once known as The Prowler, reflects on the story of his past and the events that fell in Rome between 1409 and 1503 as an agent in service of the Templar Order. In the shadow of death, he details the events of he and his fellow agents involvement in the secret Templar/Assassin war through history. - Involves all MP characters of ACB.
1. Prologue - 1486

_When we are under the strongest lock of chains, we do not know it. We do not realize the true value of freedom. We abide by rules given from supposed divine, and we do not question what is said in our hearts. I was made to work that away, to turn off my autonomy in exchange for an efficient killer. A much needed killer, skilled and bound by a blind faith which chose morality for me. And with good practice, it was done to me at a young age, as I was taught from the beginning the teachings and strict rules of the Bible. Trust in translations, in cardinals, priests and popes. What I did not see as a young man, was how easily I was moulded and manipulated to do their bidding. Even the strongest of faiths may be broken, if the true nature of its intensions are revealed. Some could not handle the realization, some died in honor or denial. But when my faith broke my heart, I was no longer that child to the cross. I was a new man who understood the truth about the world, the Vatican and the Church. _

_It pains me to think of my early life, though I should be thankful I managed to escape such a tight leash. I feel a sting each time I think. How confident I was, how sure and how ready. How I should have been enjoying my freedom and youth. How I should have been romancing and how I shouldn't have trusted my allies with such faith, when they were clearly misconstrued well beyond recovery. I cannot undo what has been done, but I think to my victims and wonder if I had done more bad than good. I was following the Church, surely that was a greater good in exchange for some small sins. After all, the anarchistic threat attacked important members, and left us in debt. My feelings are confused to this day. It has been roughly thirty years since the day I crawled from that dock, my insides cringing with the worst of poisons. Left on the stones to die by none other than the lady in my life, Fiora Cavazza. Perhaps I should take a moment to organize my thoughts, and record this account. Whether it is valued or tossed away to be lost in history, I feel the recording of the story will ease my mind and perhaps allow my wife and children to understand someday, who I was and what made change so drastically to the man I am today. They will forgive me some day, for being so silent about their curiosities._

* * *

___**1486**_

The earlier days of my childhood are lost. I do not remember my real name or what my family was like before my initial taking, but I remember fire, carnage and a terrible while on the streets. I remember fending for myself, a small boy who learned to steal and strive for what was necessary to survive. On one occasion while running from a petty crime, a swift Madonna not much older halted my path and cornered me with a young man. I panicked, believing they would kill me for my deeds, but instead they offered me a solace I desperately desired. Food, drink and shelter, I was fortunate to be taken by this kind couple, who I saw as a mother and father figure at such an age. I felt rich, as they promised to give me an education, training and proper attire. I believed them to be aristocratic, their pockets full with many florins to spare. How could I resist? How could they want a scrawny thing such as myself? As the years progressed, I suppose they saw a potential in my stealth that was perfect for the process they were testing. Maestro, Baltazar, was very involved in his work and taught me skills unknown to many guards and soldiers who received the mandatory training. He insisted it was a secret art and that I was special enough to learn it. They pressed the Church, and I followed an education that ensured I knew it well. Maestra Fiora assisted him, and for the longest time I grew up thinking they had been together. By the time I was twenty, I was a composed, well abiding young man who was dedicated to the opportunities he'd been given, learned and very strong. It was then I was recognized as a member within the Templar Order, whose mission and members were revealed to me by my Maestro and Maestra. They had chosen me for my natural abilities, and trained me like the threat they had faced for centuries, the Assassini. Armies of Templars like them before had fallen at the hand of these dangerous rebels, and the only way they saw fit to terminate them was by creating one. Grateful for the superior life I was given, my alias was my only name, and my God given duty to serve the Templar Order was the purpose of my life. I had been chosen, or at least that is what I was meant to believe.


	2. Venetian Carnevale

His eyes were starting to strain from following the mess above. Flags of every color riddled the sky, hanging from wall to wall and lining the entire street. Astounding, the money these people invested for a single occasion, but then again so did Maestro Cesare when he hosted his own events. Something about this one was different though. The care put into the lanterns, the costumes and the masks were uncanny. He found himself feeling out of place, despite being hidden beneath a hood. It was as if creatures had infested the Venetian streets, ridding of the humans which occupied by day. A loud spurt of laugher exploded in a large group of people, and for a moment he stepped forward, his arms at the ready to pounce._ "Rimanere qui…" _A womansaid, his Maestra's hand going to his chest to signal rest. _"naturalmente…" _the young man trailed off. He let his arms fall to his sides in a more relaxed position, to look natural if that is what she desired. You could never be too careful under any circumstance. A night made for endeavours and parties was a perfect night for a kill. That was _why_ they were there in the first place. "Maestra… why are we placing ourselves within this festival?" "Patience, Il Lupo. We just have to rendezvous at the location first before business. Then we can blend in a little more with the crowd." She smiled, Fiora was always confident in herself.

Crossing a small stone bridge to avoid the water, they made their way to a darker area that lead the pair to a little church, nestled between two decorated buildings. It was rather tall, grey and looming over the night sky, which was blacker than ever with the New Moon out. Lupo noted the stain glass, his eyes scaling the niches and features of the building. He couldn't help that little habit anymore, it was drilled into him. Fiora made her way to the door, her dark hair flowing as she pressed herself against it to slide in the arch swiftly. Il Lupo followed suite in a timely manner, wanting to remain hidden. A musky smell met his nostrils; the scent of wax and dust from old books he supposed. The sanctuary was dimly lit with candles, and at the altar stood a dark figure, waiting patiently. "Buonasera, Madonna Fiora. And..." Il Lupo nodded in acknowledgement, and remained silent. He was attached to his duties and remained unengaged until he was needed. "Do not mind him. He accompanies me." "Very well, Madonna." The man nodded graciously and stepped down from his place, preparing to explain the situation. "Your target is a man plotting to assassinate a very important foreign guest who is visiting Venezia. Messer Francois Duchamp di Francia. He is an asset, as he is interested in providing the Templar Order with funds much needed. He must be kept alive." He paused, his hands linking together. "It was recommended under instruction to adorn a costume, to blend and attend the festivities that were going on this evening. Duchamp will be there enjoying himself. We fear of the Assassini, and have heard rumors they will be there. You will watch carefully and stay within the San Marco district alone. Keep an eye on the roof tops, the clock tower. Everything. They strike from above." "They will not succeed with Il Lupo and I here." Fiora glanced back at him confidently, her eyes locking with his. "…Providing I may move freely _without a costume…._"

"_This is Carnevale_, in Venezia, to look normal is to look very _conspicuous_." A muffled voice spoke from the pews, two figures making themselves noticed. Il Lupo spun around, surprised at their presence. He hadn't sensed it? They must have just entered. "Capito, Messer. But from what I have seen this evening, it would be impossible to run around dressed up." "Is that so…" They stepped out, limber and tall, the candlelight unveiling a horrid, blue grin and washed out eyes. By the demon's side was a resembling thing; a woman with purple lips and gold face. They were both heavily dressed in luxurious costumes, velvets colored like royalty and lined intricately across their bodies. The Prowler took a moment to assess the eccentric duo while his disposition changed protectively. "Who might you two be..?" He questioned, and Fiora placed a hand on his shoulder. "Glad you asked!" The female said with enthusiasm unlike the Prowler had ever seen, her hands coming together in a gesture. "Bonjour," She bowed gracefully, "Je m'apelle L'Arlecchina." Her voice was honeyed and smooth. "Et je suis L'Arlecchino." The male of the two also bowed his movements just as swift as the lady. They both retained formalities true to their sexes. "We are the finest Jesters in all of Italia!" The girl pressed on, wrapping an arm around the male who did so to her in return. He seemed hostile but his mask, _Lupo hoped it was a mask_, was in constant cheer. It was eerie.

"This is Cahin and Caha. They are native to this area and will assist you tonight." "Absurd…" The Prowler mumbled, Fiora was also confused. "These are the Templar Agents we were assigned to meet with?" "Yes Madonna. Do not be fooled _by _their foolishness, they are ruthless and worthy of the Order." The clergyman assured, watching the two speak among themselves theatrically. They must have gestured and twisted more in those few minutes than Il Lupo in his entire life. Now that he'd gotten somewhat use to their appearance, he thought of them to be _quite silly_. These would be the professionals he would associate with? How could they even walk down a street, let alone stalk and successful terminate a target. He said nothing, and kept his eyes on the male who seemed to be doing the same to him. He did not know for sure, he just got that feeling of being watched. "We will assure that you have a wonderful time!" Arlecchina, _The Hellequin_, insisted, stepping up on her toes in purple boots which clicked each time the heel met with the floor. "There is so much to enjoy during Carnevale, especially our show! You cannot miss that." Her voice became sly, and the male, Arlecchino, chuckled at her advertising. "I insist…!" "We will keep our eyes out for the target assigned, and _not_ indulge in the evening." The Prowler sternly replied. "Ah, but you cannot be that way Messer. You must indulge in order to appear apart of the event. If you do not, the Assassin will know and single you and your members out." "We have a delicate reputation, Messer. We do not wish to disturb it by going _out of the norm_." "So we must _act! Play! Jump! Entertain!_" _They kept saying things together_. He suspected from their strange accent that they were half French; their pronunciation was off and mixed. "Believe in us." The Harlequin got his footing and slowly drew back, his arms extending. "And we will succeed!" The Hellequin arched her back, her arms extending as well. Fiora chuckled heartedly. "What a fun pair, you two." It was essential to keep contacts in good standing, and Maestra knew this importance, so Il Lupo backed off. "Merci, now Avanti we have much to do in little time. You have to enjoy the event first a little, get some drinks- and oh! Your hair I must play with it! I must make sure it does not get caught on the mask. I picked some out for you. I hope you like them." The female jester linked arms with Fiora and dragged her off to assign costumes. "Best to follow them." Harlequin extended his arm forward, motioning for the Prowler to walk. He did so cautiously.

"It has been a long time since I have felt so decorated and special." Fiora mused, a prideful smirk on her painted lips, eyes dark and her hair laced with small roses, ribbons and sparkles. It was nice to see her like this. She spun around once and let her dress twirl freely, her legs accentuated by rich colored tights. When she stopped she smirked at Il Lupo with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye. Whether that was direct or not he glanced quickly then turned away. It would be only complicating to endeavour, and Maestra Fiora was still a professional _escort_. It was in her nature. But she _did _look beautiful. The Hellequin was quite excited about her work. She was clearly a woman who enjoyed fashion and the refinements of it. To the side sat the Harlequin, patiently as he watched his counterpart. He seemed so tentative to her every move, similar to how he guarded Fiora. Though this Jester's focus was very intense, passionate and possessive. It practically radiated from him. It made Il Lupo wonder about their _relations_, and how that would affect their work performance. If they were a couple, bound by marriage or the church it could cause problems. Il Lupo had always been instructed not to trifle with relations in this line of business. Too many had been left lost in grief. "Now you." He'd been so deep in his thoughts that he did not realize the young Jester had intent on decorating him too. "Madonna I do not-" "No you must!" She cried and placed her hands on his vest, reaching into his cape. Lupo could feel cold eyes burning on him, and knew these two certainly would be trouble.

A mask was a terrible thing to adjust to. It cut off and left black blurs in his peripheral vision, even more so than the hood, and he found himself constantly pulling on the ribbons to hold it closer to his face so that he could see. A wolf would be useless without his key sense of perception. Out on the streets again, the mischievous jesters led them through a crowd of Venetians, some already inebriated, he could only guess by their behaviour. Some reached out, adoring them to which _they_ took so _humbly_. They were all over the place, eccentric and rash people. Il Lupo could hardly stand it. Even his Maestra was getting into it, which concerned him. "Maestra I advise you please to remain focused…" "Il Lupo this is the time to enjoy yourself, mi cara. You are a young man. Please, everything will fall into place tonight." Her hazel eyes assuring him before she joined the damned Hellions. In the midst of a crowd started a livelihood of music, people gathering around a large wooden stage, decorated in flags and fabrics which matched those he'd been staring at before. The entire display was quite phenomenal; Piazza San Marco was completely lit up, in all its glory. Even the church was lined with décor, and glimmered in a holy fashion. The church condoned this deviance? Fires and confetti sprinkled the area, as well as many, many creatures like the two he'd been assigned with. It made sense now why they would function here. Unwilling to join the festivities, Lupo decided to keep it cool and perhaps drink some wine to settle himself. He noticed women were beginning to smile at him, giggling and giving him sultry looks. _Blend in_, he told himself and experimented with soft smiles, mysterious looks. He did the mystery thing quite nicely. It did make women swoon.

_"Ciao signore e signori, bonjour!"_ A colourful man announced from the top of the stage, his voice loud despite the strange mask on his face. Its lower lip was exaggerated and protruding from the nose, perhaps that was the function of the design. A large hat sat on his head with multiple ribbons that hung down his motley costume. "We have a number of classic acts in store for this year's Carnevale!" The crowd cheered, his hands went up to acknowledge them. "Some acts are old, others not so new and some so-so! But beyond the Commedia, costumes and the trickery, we have special guests by great request. I am pleased to present to you the anomaly of our own great Venezia, the infamous duo, brother and sister whose dramatic talents are unmatched by any on earth or divine. The smooth, silly and sultry; the Harlequin and Hellequin!" He yelled as two familiar faces jumped up from nowhere, presenting themselves to the crowd in stances which mirrored each other. Il Lupo felt a pang of shock in his stomach, his breath halting as he scanned the area, up above the party and crowd. No signs on any hoods yet. Were they mad? "Bonjour!" "Ciao!" They both called, the Harlequin sounding a little more optimistic than how he'd presented himself in the Church. It was quite remarkable. "How are you?!" Hellequin called out to the crowd, a hand elegantly placed on her hip as she posed in such a revealing way. The crowd howled. The Harlequin stepped forward, his chest puffed as he shook his fist and jumped towards his counterpart. She laughed shrill and rolled her head away from him, to which he got on his knees and silently begged. A dramatic glove went to the Hellequin's forehead, followed by a linking of hands, and an extremely complicated cartwheel. "Non!"

Spinning on her heel a few times, The Hellequin posed and reached out her hand elegantly, as if she wished for an acknowledgement. The Harlequin gripped it like a gentleman and pretended to kiss it, before hitting his mask against her hands a couple of times in frustration, letting her go in a twirl. He crossed his arms and the crowd roared in laughter. Once she flew back, she pretended to be dizzy, holding her head and stomping a food down in anger. "How dare you! Idiotta!" She called him out, to which the Harlequin froze, plotting an escape. "HA!" She reached to her hips and whipped out two golden daggers. The Prowler couldn't help but to look at their unique design, and their capability. They were real blades, he knew the difference. Was she to challenge her own partner? "How dare you!" He pointed, though cowered as she drew near. On his knees, then bottom he tried to fend her off as she leaned in, his head tilting back until, he drew his own set of daggers and surprised the crowd, jumping back at her. "HA, HA!" A heated fight ensued, one that seemed too real. They really were striking at each other, yet miraculously so in sync that they did not hurt the other. Lupo had noticed this synchronization in the beginning; they spent much time practicing.

"Fiend!" The Hellequin cried, "Disenchanted love!" She sighed dramatically, pouncing at the Harlequin until they missed each other and threw their daggers in the air, catch the opposite pair. Both looked down as if it wasn't supposed to happen and the crowd rejoiced. "Cazzo!" The Harlequin cried, "I am useless with these!" "Give them back." "No, not until you give mine back." "Not until you give _mine_ back." They bickered. "Alright, you throw yours back to me and I'll throw mine." "You mean I'll throw yours and you throw mine cher!" More laughter. Their tossing of blades turned into a risky juggling act; four daggers flying between the two jesters in a marvellous display. When their rightful daggers returned, the two put them in their sheaths, and bowed. "Well, it seems my sister isn't interested in accompanying me anymore." The Harlequin started, "It pains me, and to think, I promised her we would dance this evening." "You NEVER dance!" Hellequin shouted, crossing her arms. "Well fine, Madonna, I'll just find myself another dancer." "Well I will too!" She said, and glanced out at the crowd with a smile. "Might anyone join me?" Her voice became honeyed again, glazed with seduction that complimented her sudden attractiveness. Men went wild. "Venir ici, toi!" She called out, her finger curling to an older looking gentleman of nobility. That was him, wasn't it? Duchamp. At least, that's what Lupo thought. "Moi?" "Oh! vous êtes Français, Monsieur!?" She called, egging him up on stage. "Bien sûr!" He cried, a hearty laugh following as he went up. Lupo caught a glance of the man's eyes, and how he stared at the young Jester like meat. This was certainly staged.

"You!" The Harlequin boasted, "Madonna with the long dark hair. Please, will you be mine?" The jester tilted his head, women giggling as he singled out none other than Il Lupo's Maestra, Fiora Cavazza. She gasped in shock, a hand falling to her chest. "Of course Jester! I am honoured!" Il Lupo felt ill. Now she was doing this too? This was the greatest contradiction he'd ever seen. Surely Fiora was in on this, but he had not told her of this plan. The Jesters, now with their new partners began to dance in a comical manner, trying to outdo each other. They were more obsessed with making each other jealous than their partners. Fiora played along, laying her head on the chest of the Harlequin with an evil little smile. The older man couldn't take his eyes off the young Jester's endowments but that only added to the silliness of the entire gimmick. "I think we win. I think I win, you win!" The jester shouted to man and whipped around, motioning to a giant chair in the center back of the stage. "I crown you **King** of the fools messer…" "Duchamp." "Yes! Duchamp Of San Marco and Venezia!" She shouted, stomping and demanding him to sit at once. The crowd roared for a moment, but Harlequin only started to laugh maniacally. "Now you are left alone!" "No! I am not!" She shouted childishly, than turned her head towards Il Lupo. "**_You!_**" She cried, and Il Lupo felt this to be extremely dangerous. "I will not." He whispered to Caha, who was bent over with her legs spread, clinging to his arm. "Come, please!" She said, "No, no…" "Yes!" And with a hard tug and a loud crowd, he was forced to be the dancing partner of the Hellequin.

Out of his element, he relied on the mask across his face to keep composure, hand in hand with the young Quin. When she saw Fiora get a little closer to the Harlequin, Hellequin immediately forced Il Lupo's hands on her waist, to which he felt rather awkward. When she started to spin with him faster, he felt privatized with the young lady, his eyes on the gold plated mask of the Hellequin. She held a mysterious gaze, her smile bright and her lips so soft looking. He fell numb for a moment appreciating her beauty, until he felt watched again. That possessive man? No, he was busy with Fiora. Then, he looked beyond. Among the roar of the crowd, the lights and decorations, he sensed something. Different eyes, his intuition told him. _Of course_, everyone was having a blast right now. "Madonna… Arlecchina.." He didn't know what to call her. "Caha, messer. Je m'apelle Caha." Her voice was soft, addressing him in a relaxed tone. "Oh, Caha…" That was it, her real name. "We are very high profile Madonna Caha…" "Relax! Everything will be fine..!" She dragged her words and pressed closer to his body; the first contact he'd made with a woman in a long, long while. While he expected the male jester to become upset, he noticed his focus was on the cloth veranda above the stage, "Ah!" He shouted with a silly giggle. " But you know, sister, _No one is the King of Fools but me!"_ The Harlequin broke his hold on Fiora and dashed for a lever near the end of the stage, kicking it. The chair holding Duchamp disappeared down into the floor; leaving the spot empty for the taking. "C'est moi!" He shouted, and posed once more_… just as a hooded man landed by his side_. It happened in a matter of seconds, smoothly as if planned. The Harlequin wasted no time, and attacked the sudden intruder. "**Imposter!**" He screamed, and Il Lupo started to pry from Caha's hold, "_Assassino!"_ She clawed at his suit and tried to hold him. "Oh no! He is here out of jealous rage! He wishes to be the king!" Caha shouted, nuzzled into Il Lupo's back to try keep him still. It also looked great for the audience. Fiora fanned herself, her weapon hidden in plain sight. With a sinister laugh, the Harlequin brought his dagger forth and stabbed it into the heart of the white hooded man. From the audience's angle, it seemed quite ridiculous, but from where the stage participants stood, it was a real murder. Dead, on the stage the Harlequin kicked the corpse with his boot, laughed again and danced, as if it was all a part of the show. The crowd cheered on, and the Quins took their bows. "Thank you! Merci! Grazie!" The gloated as the crowd cheered, and Fiora caught sight of Il Lupo, confused and relieved.

The sky had cleared of its clouds, and despite the continued celebration below the four had had enough for the evening. They met together at the top of the Bell tower, Campanile. Lupo stood near the ledge with a hand on an arch, glancing down at the oblivious multitude, who had witnessed a Templar Murdering earlier that evening. "…I understand how you both work efficiently now." He felt like he owed it to the jesters, for their clear skill and talent. "To hide a murder in plain sight…" "It is a trick we are good at." The male spoke, "Caha and I have perfected such arts after so much practice." He chuckled, and Lupo imagined him to be grinning. "Yes, Cahin and I are wonderful at distracting and making improvisation look flawless!" She giggled, hyped after the event. "Tonight was wonderful!" "You two must be train often to be so precise. I saw your dagger play, it was real." He nodded out of respect. They had earned it, Lupo had been mistaken. "Well I should hope." "We have been together since birth!" Caha broke into laughter; the comment set Il Lupo off. He wanted to ask but decided to remain silent, suddenly confused about their nature. Though perhaps his expression gave gim away. "Did you not hear? She is my sister." "And he is my brother." "Twins!" "Fascinating…" Fiora commented, sitting down as she stared at the two.


End file.
